Page 249 of The Ascended
My hands shook as I edged around the chaos seed, giving it a wide berth.Thatcher,I pushed through our bond.See any shiny crystals, don't touch them. They'll turn you to dust in seconds.
His response came immediately.What, you think I make a habit of picking up strange objects in death mazes?
Despite everything, I almost smiled.I think you've done stupider things on less dangerous days.
Fair point.His mental voice carried a grudging amusement that felt achingly familiar.
One contestant down already, and we'd barely begun.
The path opened into a vast circular chamber.
The Tapestry of Fates hung before me. Billions of threads woven through the air in patterns that seemed random until you looked closer and saw the terrible beauty of their design. Each thread glowed with its own light. Where threads touched, sparks flew, creating moments of connection that rippled outward in waves.
Other contestants had found the chamber too. Marx stood near the edge, her face pale as she searched for her thread among the multitude. Another contestant was already reaching for what must have been his thread, his movements careful and precise.
I forced myself to focus, searching for my own thread. How would I even recognize it among so many?
Then I saw it.
A thread that sparkled with starlight, that carried the echo of the power within me. It wove through the Tapestry in a complex pattern, intersecting with countless others but maintaining its unique luminescence. My destiny, visible and tangible.
But there, intertwined so tightly they seemed almost one, was another thread. This one pulsed with a different energy—organic, primal, speaking of growth and decay and the fundamental forces of life itself. It was a thread woven from the colors of blood and bone.
Thatcher's thread.
Our fates were literally bound together, twisted in violent knots.But what hit me first wasn't the tangle—it was the length. Thatcher's thread stretched on and on.
The thread that Heron had seen cut short now extended into the distance. The relief that flooded me made my knees weak. Our gamble with Morthus—it had worked. Thatcher would live. I reached out with shaking fingers, trying to find a way to separate our threads.
"Tricky, isn't it?"
I spun to find Vance standing behind me, his eyes fixed on our tangled threads. "Yours and your brother's. So tightly bound. Makes you wonder what the Fates were thinking."
"Back off," I warned.
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Peace, Morvaren. I'm not here to fight. Just to observe." His smile grew. "Though I do wonder—what happens if those threads can't be separated? Can you complete the trial without your token? Can he?"
He moved on before I could respond, but his words splintered under my skin. I turned back to our threads, studying the knot more carefully. There had to be a way to separate them without triggering whatever consequences came from touching another's fate.
I tried approaching from different angles, looking for a loose point in the tangle. But every potential opening led to another knot, another gnarled twist. My frustration built with each failed attempt.
Then I saw it—following the threads through the room, they eventually separated. But the way they split sent a chill through me. Thatcher's thread veered sharply away from mine, darkening to a deep, unsettling black as it did. I didn't like it. Didn't understand what it meant.
Thais?Thatcher's mental voice cut through my thoughts, tense with urgency.I found our threads. They're?—
Me too. I found a place where they separate.
I looked across the vast chamber and spotted him on the opposite side. Our eyes met across the distance.
Any ideas?I asked.
Working on it.
I returned to the knot, growing more frustrated with each passing moment. Around us, other contestants were making progress—carefully following their individual threads deeper into the Tapestry, seeking their tokens. But Thatcher and I remained stuck, unable to even begin.
Then my eyes snagged on yet another complication.
A third thread tangled with ours. This one was the color of storm clouds. Gray and strange, it wove through our knot in a way that made no sense. It wasn't another contestant's thread—I could see those clearly enough, each with their own distinct energy and path.
